


The Armorer

by Jen425



Category: Original Work
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fantasy setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27941357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jen425/pseuds/Jen425
Summary: They’ve known each other since one was a boy, the other was half-made, and the kingdom had yet to fall
Relationships: Armourer/Warrior in Frequent Need of Repairs
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6
Collections: Mistletoe Exchange 2020





	The Armorer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cullenlovesmen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cullenlovesmen/gifts).



> So uhhhh some sort of Sci-Fi/Fantasy setting going on here. Hope you like it!

The Armorer met Zoira when he was a mere twelve years old, and the Armorer himself was still being developed. A hulking tower of magitech, not yet possessing of the skills needed to be a proper Armorer. But such were the rules, each one to build their successor from scratch using a blueprint of their own design. In development, just ready enough to watch the front of the armory, just as Zoira himself was in training at the time. 

Which is to say that the man, then boy, had always been the way he is, and the Armorer has proof known as memories. And a repair log which listed the broken helmet belonging to Zoira’s mentor turned in by a young Apprentice Zoira.

“I didn’t mean to break it!” The boy had said. “It was just so heavy.”

“It okay,” the Armorer, who was not yet the Armorer, had replied. “But creator will have to tell mentor.”

Zoira had looked so put out then, and the Armorer who was not yet the Armorer had felt something inside of him.

“Unless I fix it myself,” he says.

He wasn’t yet ready to do that, but he’d done it anyways, adequately, and Zoira thanked him when he completed it in twice the time it took the Armorer’s creator to do the same simple fix.

  
  
  


The Armorer had been recently dubbed such when Zoira came in, sheepishly.

“I broke my new sword,” he said.

There’s a lot loaded into that statement, ever since the enemy’s invasion. The Armorer had watched his creator be reduced to scrap, and he knows the now star warrior of the rebellion had seen much the same, perhaps more in the the time between his capture and his return with over a hundred other prisoners.

With this sword, which he claimed was a death gift from his mentor.

The Armorer knows it, they’re both incomplete. And yet they both retain their responsibilities.

“Let’s see what I can do,” he says.

Zoira’s relief when the Armorer finishes the reforging is more precious than the most wonderful creations the Armorer had watched his creator put together.

  
  
  


“Surely you can do this simple fix yourself,” the Armorer says, unimpressed at the mildly dented armor. “I know you have attended my trainings

“I think it could use your touch,” Zoira responds, smirking.

Not every occasion they meet is symbolic. Sometimes it’s just a matter of Zoira needing armor fixed.

“There are others who need my help,” the Armorer points out. Zoira’s smirk drops.

“Of course,” he says. “I know that. I just… well, I like seeing you.”

The Armorer freezes at those words. He wishes he could explain why, but all he can do is smile.

“I like seeing you, as well,” he replies. “You are a good person. If a clumsy fighter.”

Zoira’s smirk returns.

“Good,” he says, before quietly adding “I can… my mother was a blacksmith. If you ever need a hand, I can help in a pinch.”

“So you’re saying you could have fixed your armor all this time?” The Armorer asks. “If not replace it?”

Zoira winces.

“Yours are better,” he says. “And you’ll notice. I almost never submit small fixes I could do by sneaking in for a short time at during your rest cycle.”

The Armorer hmms, mind turning.

“If your father is a blacksmith,” he says. “Then you have lied about your identity.”

“Does status matter, anymore?” Zoira counters. 

“That wasn’t my accusation,” the Armorer replies. “You are not the only one who needs aid.”

“And where exactly else would I do it?” Zoira argues… then he sighs. “Look, you could use the help right?”

“Yes.”

“Then enough talking.”

  
  
  


Zoira keeps showing up, more than he should or needs to, with broken armor, or an offer to help, and always a smile. It becomes an odd constant as the war grows more complicated and deadly.

And then there’s the day where their enemy’s top fighter is revealed to have been Zoira’s mentor all along.

“What are you doing here?” The Armorer questions, when he finds Zoira hidden in the corner of his tent. Zoira starts.

“Armorer,” he says. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t face anyone right now.”

“Then why not return to your own tent?” The Armorer asks. Zoira looks away.

“I can’t even face the team,” he says. “Not after we lost…”

“I am sorry,” the Armorer. “Truly. To lose a dear friend, at the hands of your own mentor…”

Zoira scoffs.

“At least we know their gear is too shitty to be your creator,” he says, before he pauses. “…I’m sorry, that was cruel. I’m just…”

“I am sorry for your loss,” the Armorer says. “What do you need?”

“Can… can I stay here?”

“Of course.”

  
  
  


“Are you alright?” Zoira asks, pulling the Armorer to standing with an inordinate amount of strength. The Armorer smiles.

“Do not worry,” he says. “I had almost finished it regardless of my current state.”

Zoira blinks.

“Finished what?”

The Armorer stumbled as he tries to walk towards the personal area of the armory. It’s too much off his balance, having lost an arm in the raid. Zoira catches him.

“I’ll come with you,” Zoira says. “For some answers.”

The Armorer nods, slowly, and allows Zoira to balance him as they enter his area.

Zoira gasps.

“That’s…”

“A battle capable form, indeed,” the Armorer says. “Harder to damage, significantly more agile.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I would like to fight with you, Zoira,” the Armorer says simply, and Zoira turns to him with warmth in his eyes.”

“You would?”

“I would like nothing more than to be by your side,” the Armorer says.

Zoira smiles.

“I’m glad.”

  
  
  


Zoira is going to die.

It’s not a doubt, it’s a fact. Zoira had gone after his mentor, alone. There is no chance he could win.

The others can’t get there fast enough, but maybe the Armorer’s inhuman speed can do it.

Maybe he can save him.

He gets there just in time…

To take the blow for himself.

“Arm—”

“Now is your chance to defeat an enemy,” the Armorer interrupts, hearing the glitch in his voice. “Hurry.”

And… Zoira does.

“I did it,” he murmurs. “I really…”

The Armorer’s body squeels as it slowly shuts down, and Zoira turns.

“Armorer!”

“I am so proud of you,” the Armorer says, as Zoira rushes to him, cradling him in his arms.

“Armorer, no. You can’t…”

“My successor is completed but unactivated in my tent,” the Armorer says. “I was prepared to make sure my duties may be continued.”

“I don’t care about the war!” Zoira cries. “I love… I love you.”

The Armorer takes a moment to process that, as his systems continue to clog.

“I…” he says, trying to get the words out of his failing audio system. “I lo… L-L-L… L-Lo…”

And then he knows no more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
